


darling, so it goes

by quixxotique (crownlessliestheking)



Series: Bringing an Al Dente Noodle to the Spaghetti House [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Morning Breath is Bad Shit, Neither of them are really morning people to be honest, Sibling Incest, Smooching, They don't stop talking, They're gay and in love and total dorks, genital piercings, i'm writing something happy for ONCE, mutual handjobs, terrible puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-03 19:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12153630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownlessliestheking/pseuds/quixxotique
Summary: And he's gilt-golden in the sunlight that streams in through the blinds, thanks to the glowing hate-orb that keeps this planet alive. But you suppose that's something you can forgive, when the rays mantle around Dave like a halo.





	darling, so it goes

**Author's Note:**

> Happy times, for once.

You wake earlier than expected, to the comforting weight of an arm slung over you, and a hideous numbness thanks to the weight of the arm’s owner laying on your own. Christ. You cut off any tangents your mind, still muzzy with sleep and all too impressionable, is willing to wander down in terms of accidental limb loss thanks to cuddling gone wrong. 

And he’s gilt-golden in the sunlight that streams through the blinds and tints the room a buttery yellow, incandescent thanks to the giant flaming hate-orb that keeps this planet alive and demands its dues of early mornings. But that’s something you can forgive, you think, when its rays mantle around Dave like a halo. It’s something that your brother and erstwhile lover would enjoy taking a photograph of, were he even remotely less catatonic than he is now. You settle with committing the sight to memory. It’s an easy feat, really, and though you’re sure you’d be coming across as Edward Cullen levels of creepy in other circumstances, you rarely get a chance to just look at Dave relaxed. It’s a sight that warms the cockles of your heart; he’s sprawled out and snoring lightly, a habit you’ve long since gotten used to, and now find endearing. You’ll never admit that to him, not with the shit you still enjoy giving him for it, just to see him sputter in protest and rattle off some related spiel. On the surface, it’s the same as the bullshit he spews for the cameras on a regular basis, but it’s directed at you. You’re convinced he plays it up a little, if only because you’ve said before that you love hearing him talk. 

When you’re in the mood to admit it, which is rarely, you love a whole lot of things about him. You shift closer, and Dave mumbles something entirely incoherent and vaguely protesting as he rolls onto his side to assume the coveted position of big spoon. It’s a privilege you don’t mind allowing him, if only because he’s afflicted with the apparently ability to become a thousand times stronger in his sleep, with Velcro arms that knot themselves around you. Not that you’re protesting, of course. You shift a little to get comfortable, still working on shaking your own arm out. It’s doing a credible impression of a staticky TV screen, so you figure you’ll get to keep the limb. It’s the small joys in life like that, which make the experience. Or some Hallmark bullshit like that. 

You stifle a yawn as Dave presses closer, insistently, and- well, hello. Your eyebrows may be approaching dangerous levels in height- a good thing no part of you suffers from acrophobia. Since you know there’s no loaded weapon in his pocket (in fact, you’re pretty sure he’s not even wearing pants, just hideous chartreuse boxers that hang low on his hips), the only logical conclusion is that he’s happy to see you. Even if he doesn’t quite know it yet.

Dave nuzzles into the nape of your neck, a warm sigh tickling the stray hairs there, and you allow yourself a small smile. Perhaps it’s a bit smug, as you jut out your immaculately plush rump against him, rocking your hips slightly. He’s not the world’s heaviest sleeper, and you know that you’re not going to be moving until he wakes up. You might as well help him with this particular bronundrum; you’ll get something out of it, too. 

You’re rewarded with a low groan that rumbles in his chest and vibrates against your back, a sigh that feathers against your skin. You allow yourself a small smile- a rare thing, to be honest, but one that Dave is terribly good at eliciting, and even better at using to his own advantage, the jackass. But perhaps that’s a little harsh, given the fact that you’re currently planning a good, old-fashioned morning howdedoo. 

Craning your neck kind of unattractively reveals that Dave is actually still asleep, despite the fact that he’s pressing rather insistently against your ass, his hips rocking in stuttered, shallow movements. You debate the merits of just elbowing him to speed things along, given that your own downstairs department of dong is getting increasingly amenable to the idea of something finally happening. 

Right, then. Elbowing him is becoming an increasingly attractive idea, albeit one sure to ruin whatever mood you’re attempting to cultivate (it’s sultry, but that’s a bit difficult when Dave’s also snoring softly in your ear, you will have to admit. Hence why you’re attempting to change that). You start with a little nudge, and a rather pointed roll of your hips right back into him. This earns you a soft, sleepy groan, which, you’ll admit, is a whole lot more attractive than it has any business being. Though the same can be said for your brother in general. How he managed to seduce anyone (by which you mean the two actual relationships he’s had, and the adoring masses clamoring for his ass and attention), let alone you, while clad in the nightmare realm of eye-burning colors and pixelated monstrosities he calls a wardrobe, you have no idea. Clearly, there’s no accounting for taste. 

You do it again, and this time his arm tightens slightly around you, and you can feel a long exhalation fanning across the nape of your neck. You seize this particular opportunity to roll over, press your lips to his. Lazily, you lick along the seam of his mouth, and, yeah, the taste isn’t that great, but you’re willing to overlook that. Especially with how he just about melts into it, giving a soft sigh and pressing in closer for a bout of lazy makeouts. This, you think, is an acceptable outcome. 

You pull away slightly, just so you can see the moment his eyes open, pale lashes fanned against his cheek then sweeping up and his eyes a flash of brilliant, burning red as they’re revealed. He’s still hazy with sleep, but his lips are already turning down in a pout to protest how you’ve moved away. You’re one of the only ones who’s seen him like this. You’re the only one he wants to see him like this, and it’s so easy in moments like this to ignore the niggling voice that tacks on ‘for now’ to the end of that thought. It takes your breath away. 

“Whassa time?” Dave mumbles, bleary and petulant as he cranes his neck up past you to see the red numbers on the clock. “The fuck’re we up ‘fore noon?”

“Something was certainly up before me,” you say, coupling that with a pointed glance at his crotch. Not your classiest move, really, but Dave gives his dick a frown even through the blankets and his boxers. It’s endearing, really. 

“Sorry,” he answers, but you wave that off. It’s half-assed at best, anyway. 

“But to the original point of this, dude. Do you want some help with that?” you ask, and eye him up shamelessly with your best shitheel grin in place. You’re not too sure how successful you’ve pulled off lecherous, given that all your bro does is snort and try to stifle a laugh. But he tugs you in for another kiss, and this time you take the chance to get yourself nice and settled on top of him, half tangled in the sheets. You hum against his mouth when it meets yours, kiss him slow and deep. The kind of kiss you see in movies, desperate straight couples smooching in the middle of a storm because they have no common sense. But you’re macking on your sleepy older brother with morning breath, so perhaps you aren’t one to judge. 

“Now that’s the best idea you’ve come up with ever, bro, but I gotta suggest a change in position, I think that’s what you might be jonesing for here,” Dave agrees, his voice husky with sleep and his tone charged with an undercurrent of interest, as he shifts to roll neatly on top of you. It’s a maneuver you two have managed to perfect, over the years, albeit with some missteps- namely knee misplacements, and one memorable incident where an overzealous Dave had vaulted clean over you, and off the bed entirely. You’d nearly pissed yourself laughing, if you’re honest, and you’re not entirely certain he’s forgiven you. It’s one of the moments you truly wish you’d been wearing your shades to record, despite the contextual impossibility of such an action- you are both incredibly aware of how precarious your situation is, and precisely how careful you need to be. It isn’t something that bothers you, anymore. 

“I am a brona-fide and certified genius,” you drawl out, and lean up to press a kiss to his lips. His breath hasn’t improved, and you’re uncertain as to why you expected it to. But everyone is a fool in love, and you elect to don those rose-colored glasses once more to overlook this particular flaw. Especially since you’re very much aware that your own mouth can’t be that delicious, either. “All my ideas are good.”

“I don’t know, dude. Putting a kill switch on the toaster probably wasn’t the best call you could’ve made. Neither was trying to use a potato to power Baby’s First Circuit. Or at least I assume that’s what you were trying to do.” He’s clearly teasing, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. Dave knows full well that you were attempting to cook, not rig up a potato clock that would get someone a touch darker than you are, and certainly less wealthy than you’ve become, arrested. 

“Oranges are better for that sort of thing, they’re acidic and have free ions to conduct charge,” you inform him, and reach up to give his nipple a twist that’s perhaps a bit unkind. You don’t regret it, even when he scowls and uses a bony finger to jab you in the side as revenge. 

“Talk dirty to me, bro. You’ve clearly rolled a Nat 20 on that seduction right there, that orange ion talk is really doing it for me,” Dave responds. You’re not particularly surprised that he follows this up with a roll of his hips right where they’re pressed against yours, nor with the fact that his morning wood is still very much present. Growing strong, as it were. Your brother is a man of truly bizarre and diverse tastes.

“Chemistry isn’t quite my forte, but do you know what’s really hot?” you ask him, biting your lip just after to stifle a gasp as you rock into him. Your own dong is increasingly amenable to this interpersonal contact, you can say that much.

“Probably, but tell me anyway,” Dave says, shamelessly grinding against you. It’s lazy ruts of his hips for now, though you absolutely would prefer it if both your pants were off. But you can be patient.

“Exothermic reactions.” You lean up to murmur this into his ear, cliche sexy like you can be, and nip at his earlobe for good measure. He shudders above you, exaggerated. 

“Fuuuuck, just hop on my dick already,” he groans out, and not for the first time, you think that he’s terribly good at that kind of fakery. He says he couldn’t have convincing staged sex tapes otherwise, but given that you’ve never seen or heard of said tapes? He’s got no excuse. 

“Kinda like what we’re doing at the moment,” you say instead, punctuating it with a harder press of your hips against his. You can feel his cock rubbing against yours through two layers of fabric, and fuck if that’s not incredible. The moan you get is softer, but far more genuine, and Dave braces himself up on his forearms, caging you in neatly underneath him. Though it certainly isn’t as if you would even consider throwing him off- you are precisely where you want to be, pressed into the mattress by his weight. 

He hums, considering it, but you’re pleased that he’s going to indulge you in this. If only it’s because the two of you have pretty much done all the work required for preparation here, other than maybe shucking off those damn pants. And because nobody really wants to go ass-foraging first thing in the morning. Or at least, neither of you are one of the people that do. 

“Yeah, me too,” he says finally, and you offer him a small smile that’s not quite triumphant, since that’s the sort of smug bullshit that sets your brother in the mood to be contrary. You’re the foremost expert when it comes to dealing with Dave, now, and you’re able to admit that it makes you happier than it should. 

You tip your head up to steal another kiss, slow and sweet at first, but it soon shifts as your mouths open and tongues slide out, slick muscles rubbing together between pants and rolls of your hips. Dave’s trying to set a nice rhythm, slow and prolonged contact that has you arching into him with a moan that thankfully gets muffled. 

You reach down to try to yank your pants down far enough to at the very least get your dick out, and Dave huffs out a laugh against your lips, murmuring, “What, you don’t wanna nut in there? I kinda like the idea, I won’t lie.”

“You only like the idea because you want to give me shit for it later on, and I’m more interested in avoiding your shitty and entirely inaccurate jokes about premature ejaculation and creaming my pants like a thirteen year old,” you retort, and use your free hand to flick him on the nipple. 

“Dude, fuck you,” he hisses out, swatting your hand away.  
“Could’ve gotten a handful of your chest hair and pulled,” you point out, and he dips his head down to nip at your neck, firm enough to be chastising. Your breath hitches, and you take the hint, there.

“Keep that up and I’m definitely gonna be duct-taping your pants on just so you can get ‘em messy,” he threatens.

“The tape’s in my room. You’re really going to get up and leave me here, man? ‘Cause if so, I’ll just finish without you and go about my day.” You call his bluff, and Dave looks vaguely disgruntled about it, but he heaves out a sigh.

“You’re not going to leave me here nursing a cruel broner,” he says after a beat, but he doesn’t make any attempt to move. You hate to admit it, but you’re both stubborn and petty enough to do just that, and he knows it. 

“Not with your fat ass on me like this, for sure,” you answer, and he grumbles something against your skin before he bites down again, harder this time. You gasp, and tip your head back to offer up more skin. You’re not ashamed to admit that you like it when he marks you up, and he knows it; it’s visceral, physical proof that he’s yours and you’re his, inasmuch as one person can belong to another. 

“My ass isn’t fat,” he huffs out, clearly affronted, though he abandons the soon-to-be bruises along your neck to steal another kiss. You slide a hand down his back, grab a handful of his ass- which, he’s right. It’s not fat. It’s barely plush, actually, but you like to give him shit for it anyway. 

“Nah. It’s forever a disappointment,” you say, faux mournful, giving it a couple of pats for good measure. 

“You’re such a dick. And that’s not stopped you from thirsting after it like it’s the only sweet, sweet water in sight and the world is a parched desert. You’re not dying yet but god do you want some of this sweet ass,” Dave deadpans, arching to press slightly into your hand. You manage not to roll your eyes, and give what there is a lil squeeze.

“It’s not a deal-breaker, man. Your whole package is beyond great,” you tell him, more sincerely than intended. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he beams at you, a rare, unrestrained smile. Fuck, it takes your breath away.

“Yeah, my package is big enough to make up for it,” he agrees, the fucker ruining the moment just a little. But it’s alright- you didn’t do this to get all sentimental and disgustingly sappy in the morning, after all. And, you suspect that Dave did it just to avoid that for your sake. 

“It really is. Speaking of, though, you think it’s time to loose the wild anabronda for a little recreation?” you ask him, punctuating this with a roll of your hips that has his breath hitching.

“Weaksauce bropun, but the intent’s appreciated. 3/10,” he mumbles, pulling back to help. You waste absolutely no time in wriggling out of your pants, getting that shit down to your knees- which, frankly, is good enough. You try not to think too hard about how fucking ridiculous it surely looks, and instead wrap a hand around your dick, give it a slow stroke. Above you, Dave’s withdrawn some to hook his fingers in the waistband of his eyesore boxers. He doesn’t bother with a bizarre striptease, and you thank entire decrepit pantheons for it, given that he’d probably end up elbowing you in the face or something. 

You eye him up shamelessly, letting out a low whistle for ironic effect. “Hot damn. Come here often?”

“You could say that, yeah,” he replies with a smirk, picking up easily on the double entendre. “Like what you see?”

“Face like yours in a place like this? How could I not?” you play along, but gesture for him to settle right back down against you. “The four new wrinkles you have aside, of course.”

“Still good to know,” he murmurs, and flicks you on the nose before he complies. “Fuck you, man, there’s no new wrinkles.” 

The fact that he manages to make that sound like a sordid confession is not entirely due to the situation, and you take a moment to appreciate just how far gone you are for him. It’s only a moment, though, because Dave’s wrapping a hand around both your cocks, giving a long stroke. Your mouth falls open slightly, a moan escaping your lips. Fuck. The hot metal of the single piercing adorning the head of his cock rubs against you, and you shudder. 

“Whatever you say, old man,” you manage, for the sake of your pride, but any further rejoinder is promptly booted out of your mind and down several flights of stairs (it was warned), as Dave starts to move his hips. It’s indulgent, really; there’s no other way to describe the slow rocks that rubs your lengths deliberately together, the loose grip that provides barely enough satisfaction and only serves to keep your dick against his. 

You can feel it, when a few beads of pre ooze from his slit, making things all that much slicker- you’ve been dripping a few for a while now, embarrassingly enough. You reach down, do your best to awkwardly thumb at the piercing. It’s not a particularly easy thing to do, and it’s a lot clumsier than you’d like, but that doesn’t matter with the way Dave groans, presses firmly into the next thrust. He tightens his hand slightly, and you spread your legs just a bit more, shameless, to accommodate him. Your free hand slides up to curl in his hair, pull him close so you can kiss him again. 

It’s soft, but not sweet, and certainly not gentle as time goes on, when both your movements get a little more eager, and then a whole lot more desperate. A part of you absently considers the likelihood of chafe, and then you promptly decide that there is literally nothing you could care less about in that moment. 

He groans your name out against your lips, and you kiss him hungrily, drinking it all in like it’s the finest fucking wine and you’re a classy connoisseur with the most refined palate there is. Your fingers tighten involuntarily, and you buck into him as he swipes a thumb across the head of your cock, presses in at the slit just to make you squirm beneath him. 

You can feel it creeping up on you, your toes curling in pleasure as Dave just, doesn’t let up, moving a little faster, giving more when you moan it out right along with his name. Your face feels like it’s on fire, and your movements lose any sort of finesse they might have had as you rut back against him. 

“C’mon,” he demands, dipping his head to graze his teeth against your jaw just once, before he leans his head back, his hand working you both faster. Dave’s voice is rough and low with arousal, and you look up at him through half-lidded eyes. It’s gratifying to see him just as fucking wrecked as you, his face flushed and eyes dark. “I wanna see you, bro, lemme see you.”

It doesn’t take you much longer to groan out his name as pleasure washes over you, and you hate that you can’t keep your eyes open to watch him watch you like some sort of double-reacharound exhibitionist/voyeur performance art. He keeps moving against you through it, sliding through the mess to nudge at your dick, quickly becoming far too oversensitive to do just about anything. He doesn’t stop, though, not until you mumble a half-protest, squirming beneath him, and even then, he just removes his hand from around you and shifts back slightly.

You force your eyes to open properly, you want to see him, too, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, lean in to kiss him deep and satisfied. Just once, before you’re leaning back, reaching down to add your hand to his. Breathlessly, you encourage him to come, ignoring the mess as you look right at him, the need and want on his face the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He stutters out your name when he does, his head falling forwards to rest against your shoulder, and you slow the movements of your hand to a stop when he’s done, murmuring quiet praise to him and guiding him to lay back down, mess be damned. 

The minutes after you both finish drip by, syrupy with lassitude as you bask in the afterglow, Dave’s weight still pressing you into the bed, though he’s slumped loosely on top of you now. You stroke a hand down his back, tracing the curve of his spine. Neither of you speak then, and the only noise is that of pants drifting to deeper, slower breaths, and a little noise drifting in from outside. The quiet caw of a crow, a whisper of wind and wings. 

“Are you up for another jambroree in the shower?” Dave asks you, finally breaking the silence, and you give him a look that’s entirely unimpressed.

“And repeat the Incident of the Ides of May?” you ask right back, raising an eyebrow. He winces, shaking his head slightly. There is certainly a reason the two of you have sworn off shower sex entirely, and that’s due to two near concussions and several bruises on the both of you, along with a lingering and genuine paranoia about dropped soap and the mishaps it can cause, that you’d find ironic if it had happened to literally anyone else. Needless to say, you came to a quick and mutual agreement to pretty much not do that again for a good long time. 

“Guess not. This mean I gotta lick you clean babbu?” Dave waggles his eyebrows at you in what you think is meant to be a lascivious manner. Mostly they look like two perfectly shaped brush strokes pushing up against a barrier and wrinkling it. His forehead chasms certainly do take a fair amount of sexy out of the equation, but you love him anyway. 

“With that breath? Hell fucking no,” you state firmly, and receive a smack to the chest for your trouble. 

“My breath? The fuck, man, yours is at least ten times worse, you’re doing a real solid imitation of a goddamn swamp monster with that shit, let me tell you. Creature of the Black Lagoon had better oral hygiene than you, broski, and it was eating fuck knows what in the mud down there,” he rattles off, finishing it with a jab to your cheek. You turn your head and attempt to bite his finger.

“Fuck you, man, nobody asked you to scarf down the equivalent of three loaves of garlic bread last night, then wash it down with sewer water. I know you’re a fan of IT but c’mon, man, there’s no need to go that far,” you shoot back, and then waft your morning breath right into his face. Dave groans, exaggeratedly, and pretends to undergo what you think are meant to be death spasms. He doesn’t do all that well with them, though the point is carried across when he just goes limp. You heave out a sigh. “But yeah, we’re both fucking rank.”

And with that, you take advantage of his inactivity to abscond right to the bathroom adjoining his room- an actual masterpiece. Dave likes to joke that it’s most of the reason you even have a thing for him, but that’s not quite the truth, it’s only about 5% of your motivation, given that you can just use it when he’s not around. 

You look back before you close the door behind yourself, though, like always, and he’s looking right at you with a blissful fondness that warms your chest. Of course, he ruins the moment by starting to bitch about how you’ve left him with clean-up, and the horrors of congealing splooge and tissue chafing, but you’re still smiling as you shut the door. Things as normal, then. 

(The first thing you do is brush your teeth, thoroughly.)


End file.
